I Remember
by butraura
Summary: When she was young, Ally found her and her parents the victim of reckless driving. Even now she doesn't remember much, and she certainly doesn't remember Austin Moon, but when he shows up four years later and tries to help her remember, she isn't as reluctant as before to let him in her life. Will she remember him or will she have to get to know him again?
1. Chapter 1

Four years ago I was in a car accident with my parents. I was only twelve years old. My dad walked away with minimal damage to his ribs and a permanent scar above his lip. My mom wound up almost completely fine, aside from a mild concussion and some cuts. From what I was told, I was put in to a medically induced coma so doctors could operate on me and try to heal everything that was damaged. I suffered from internal bleeding in my left leg and hip, but they were able to fix that during my comatose state. I also have a few stitches in my head and side, but the real problem lies in my brain, where I now suffer from long term amnesia, and I don't remember a lot of my childhood.

I remember things like my parents and most of my family. As I met them after the accident, I began to to recall certain things about them that let me put the pieces together. And I remember other things, like in grade one, how I made my dad this tie for Father's Day and I decorated it with a bunch of music notes and dollar signs. He wore it every day for a month, I swear it. I remember my mom telling me about her trek to Africa and how the gorillas used to line up for her when she brought them grapes, and how there was one gorilla she named after me because it didn't like the green ones and was headstrong, and how she named another one after my best friend, Trish because it slept a lot and got in fights with the others.

I remember how in grade three I won a spelling bee at my school and the winning word was _agoraphobic_ and how I got this sudden rush when everyone clapped for me. I remember my dad telling me that he was proud of me and that when we got to Mini's I could get the biggest ice cream they had. Then my mom playfully shoved him because the biggest ice cream size they had was this really tiny thing that maybe takes three bites to finish. In retrospect, I should have had known that, because it's called _Mini's_, but I was seven, sue me.

I remember that the day of the accident, my parents were telling me they were thinking about renewing their vows. Because they loved each other so much and wanted to be able to do that. I was really excited, super excited. And we were going out to dinner together to celebrate. We stayed longer than expected – appetizers, entrees, desserts, tea. It was nearly dark when we finally left. And not two blocks from our house, some idiot slams directly in to our car in a drunken stupor.

I remember that I couldn't breathe for quite some time, and then I was suddenly awake two weeks later. My parents were crying. But not together. They were scared, but they stayed on opposite sides of the ICU.

So I also remember recovering. And that for four solid months I couldn't do much on my own. My left side ached all the time, and for a one month out of the hospital, I was in a wheelchair. My mom cried a lot and I needed help in and out of the bathtub for a long time. I hated relying on anyone. Every day after school, Trish came over and told me about hot guys at school. Sometimes she acted weird, but I was usually too tired to ask.

Around six months after the accident, I was close to being fully recovered. Out of the wheelchair, bathing on my own, making my own eggs for breakfast. Smiling. Then my parents told me about their divorce. I guess it was too hard to maintain the idea of being in love when your daughter's life was being clung to by cords and oxygen masks and medicine. I guess you just stop giving it any thought. You stop feeling.

Flash forward one year, and my life wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. I had this whole concept of how terribly sad I would be after my mother went back to Africa and neither she or my dad wore their wedding rings anymore. I guess after being in an accident like that I just assumed everything would suck.

It still did, but not nearly as much as it could have.

There are certain things I still don't remember, four years later. I don't remember how to play the piano anymore, but I'm trying. I don't remember how to divide fractions, though it's arguable I don't remember just because I hated math. I don't remember where I put my book before the accident and I haven't seen it since.

I miss remembering.


	2. Chapter 2

I don't remember Austin Moon.

I don't remember him at all. I can't put a face to the name, I don't recall any experiences with him ever. But according to him and to my dad and to Trish and to my teachers, we were really close before the accident. _Super _close. And I don't remember.

A few months after the accident, he moved away. I was secretly relieved, because this blonde little boy who always left my company crying kept trying to tell me we were best friends.

"Trish is my best friend," I'd tell him defensively.

He kept telling me we wrote music together.

"I don't share my music with anyone," I'd tell him.

He told me he always had a crush on me.

"I don't even know you," I'd tell him.

And every day, he would leave my home at either my mother's or father's request and for a moment I would feel bad, because I don't like people crying.

But I just don't know him. Not anymore.

So he moved away, my mom told me. He begged his mom to move him and his parents moved their business to Jacksonville. His mother, Mimi keeps in touch with my mom and they discuss us kids together. She tried to hide it at first so it didn't scare me, but I don't care anymore. I feel bad because they were great friends before, and now my mom is in Africa and Austin's mom is in Jacksonville. I bet she doesn't even know my mom is gone.

It's been four years since they moved. I live with my dad now, and I help him run the music store, where he gives me piano lessons after it closes so I can hopefully learn to play as well as I used to.

Today after school, I make for Sonic Boom on the earliest bus and make it to the mall in less than ten minutes. I take my time through the mall since my dad never minds me being late, and I take in the happy families, something I miss having. My parents still talk and are on good terms, but they aren't married anymore. They're married to their work.

I see Mini's and smile sadly as I find the bright little table where I sat with my little cone in grade three.

I see Billl's Surfboard Shack and I think about how I'd love to learn to surf, but my dad is far too clumsy for anything other than swimming.

I make it to Sonic Boom, and there are many customers, kind of odd for a Thursday. I remember that we got in a new supply of electric guitars today and I'm not longer surprised. I jog upstairs to the practise room and drop my backpack and pull a soda out of the mini fridge for a quick drink. He smiles as I bounce down the stairs and to his side, giving him a peck on the cheek. I relieve him from his cashier duties and I take his place, skimming through a magazine idly, waiting for customers.

Not one hour in to my shift, Trish barrels in. "Guess who got at Roy's Roller Rink?" she exclaims. She rolls in and almost hits the counter. "I hate this job," she mutters. "I have to teach little kids how to skate! I don't know how to skate?!"

I giggle. "Don't worry, Trish, you'll have a new job tomorrow," I tease.

"_Tomorrow?_ Um, no. There's no way I'm lasting a whole day." I roll my eyes playfully. That's something else I remember – Trish's tendency to get a new job almost every day. She has serious commitment issues – even at 12 years old.

"When's your break?" she asks me.

"Twenty minutes," I reply.

"Shoot," she says. "I have to go back..." She checks her watch. "Fifteen minutes ago. Oh. See ya!" And she runs off.

For the next twenty minutes, I engross myself in an article about how to do the perfect lazy bun, and when my dad comes to let me go on my break, I run upstairs and jump at the piano. For a minute, i mess around with trying to familiarize myself with the keys – an exercise my dad taught me after the accident – and then I begin to play piece I found in my room three years ago.

At first it's tricky, but I find a rhythm in the music and I thrive on it. About a minute in to the song, I stop. I mess up the key, sighing. I sit there in silence for a moment and hear my dad's voice downstairs. He's arguing, presumably with a customer, so I close the door a little further to block out the noise. I start to tidy up the practise room and sing the song to myself. "_I like the bass when it booms, you like the high-end treble. I'm like the 99__th__ floor and you're cool on street level,_" I sing softly to myself. "_I like the crowd rock, rock, rock, rockin' it loud, you like the sound of hush hush-_"

"Hey, keep it down," a voice says. I jump, and turn to the noise, almost dropping my papers. The boy, blonde and happy, grins. He steps forward a little. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you." I say nothing. He continues. "You sing beautifully."

"Thanks," I mumble, tucking a strand of hair back behind my ear. "Can I help you?"

He shrugs. "Nope, just came to see what was up here."

"Do you often invite yourself in to places you don't know?"

"Sometimes." He nods to the piano. "Do you play?" He grazes his hand along the wood. I nod. "It's old."

"It's nice," I say defensively.

"No, it is," he assures me. "Play me something."

"I don't know you," I say, confused as to why this stranger was still in my practise room.

His smile falters briefly but he shrugs again. "How can I know if you don't give me the chance?" He looks at the seat, silently urging me to sit.

I find myself listening, and I sit down, straightening my skirt. I hesitate, but I play anyway, the song from earlier making a reappearance. I don't sing, just play, the chords coming easily. He leans down on the piano, watching, and I know I should feel uncomfortable. I don't. At the part from before, I screw up again. And I sigh. "I-I..." I stutter. "I can never get that part." I run my fingers through my hair and take a deep breath.

He comes around to my side of the piano and leans in to see the music. He hums it to himself and gently takes my hand and brings my finger to the keys. "So it goes, hmm, hmm, hm, _hmm_," he shows me. I smile as I follow his instruction on my own and nail it. "You have a beautiful smile," he says to me.

My cheeks immediately redden and stand up quickly to move, but I crash my knee in to the piano leg and yelp. He catches me as I trip and I grip my knee, scowling. He doesn't let me go until he sits me back on the bench. He lifts the edge of my skirt slightly to get a better look at the forming bruise. I sigh again. He turns my leg carefully and bends it. "Does it hurt?"

"Just the surface. I'm usually not that clumsy," I complain.

"You'll be fine," he finalizes. He offers his hand to pull me up.

"Thanks. I feel like I'm twelve years old again," I say.

"Why?"

"I was sort of... in an accident," I explain. "My parents and I were hit in a car crash."

"I know about that," he says softly. He brings a hand up to a scar on my face and lightly brushes it. "That's how you got this."

"How do you know about that?" I ask, suddenly afraid. He says nothing. "Who are you?" I ask, staring up at him. His eyes look almost golden brown in the light and I swallow.

He looks down and away. "We've met before. Before your accident."

"What?"

"I visited the hospital every day while you were there. It killed me seeing you so beat up." He looks like he's going to cry for a moment, but it passes.

"What's your name?" I whisper, my voice breaking. I want to know, but somewhere in the back of my mind it's warning me. Telling me to back off. I push anyway.

"Austin Moon."


	3. Chapter 3

Austin Moon.

This tall, blonde boy with big eyes and a goofy grin was the infamous Austin Moon from four years ago, the one that never left me alone and the one that tried to convince me we were best friends and the one that moved away to Jacksonville.

This was him.

I step back quickly, scared. "Look, Austin, I don't... I don't remember you and I think you should probably-"

"I know," he says, raising his arms slowly. He stays where he is though, and doesn't push forward. "I know that you don't remember me. I've had four years to hate myself and come to terms with that. And it sucks. But I'm not going to push you. All that I ask is that you let me get to know you again. You can get to know me. We can start over."

I'm silent for a moment. "How can we start over if you remember everything about me? I can't put you through that... not again." I rub my arm nervously, my sad attempt to not chew my hair instead.

"I haven't seen you in a long time, Ally," Austin whispers. "I'm sure there's a lot I don't know about you." He puts his arms down but stays still.

"I need some time," I say. "To think about this."

He nods knowingly. He pulls out a piece of paper and looks around for a pen. I grab one from the table and give it to him, and he writes his name and his phone number on it. "Text this number. Even if you decide to say no, text it, okay? I'm only in town for a week." I nod, and he smiles sadly, though his eyes look hopeful.

"Thanks," I say.

He jumps a little and runs from the room for a split second, and I think maybe he changed his mind, that he didn't want to put faith in a lost cause, but he returns with a brown leather book and I can see it's full of loose papers. "This is your book," he explains. "Your mother asked me to keep it until you were ready to know me again. I don't think she thought it would take this long. I didn't read it, I promise. Not any of it. But she said there was an entry in there that made her realize I should hold on to it. I wanted to look. All these years of not knowing, they were hard. But I didn't." I take the book from him carefully, my eyes threatening to spill the tears that were apparently there. "I wrote some of my own things, those are the extra pages. You can read them if you want," he continues. "But I decided that I didn't want you to not have this anymore. It's your book. You carried it with you since you were seven. You deserve to have it back."

I open it and the first entry is dated back to 2005. My bite my lip as it quivers. "Thank-Th-Thank you," I tremble, actually crying now.

He nods, his own tears threatening to fall. "I'm going to go. Please text me if you want. I mean it Ally, at any time, I will respond." He leaves and trots down the stairs and as he leaves I hear the store bell.

Moments later, my dad walks in slowly, and I'm still in my spot from before. "Ally?" he asks cautiously. I realize then that he was arguing with Austin downstairs. "Are you okay?"

I nod and wipe my eyes quickly. "I think so, yeah," I sniff. I sit down and stare at my book.

"Is that your book?"

I nod again. "Austin gave it to me."

"He had it?" he says incredulously.

"You didn't know?"

"No," he answers earnestly. "I thought you lost it a long time ago."

"He said Mom gave it to him."

"What do you think?"

"I think I need to ask her."

After my shift at Sonic Boom ended, I hopped on a bus and went home alone, since my dad had an hour or so left. I usually waited for him, but I wanted to talk to my mom right away. I grab a bottle of water and my book and run upstairs to my room, closing and locking the door behind me. I sign on to my Skype and wait for my mom to come online, and at this point I don't care how long it takes.

I open my book and separate his entries from mine. As I'm skimming, I see one from 2008 about Austin and I.

_Dear Book,_

_ Austin and I went to our treehouse by Little River Elementary today and we pretended to be married. I cooked and cleaned and he fixed the shed. The shed was actually the bottom of the tree, but don't tell anyone._

_ When we got bored we went home and Mimi made us sundaes. Austin took a bite of mine when I wasn't looking, but I know it was him because he had sprinkles on his face after and he didn't have sprinkles on his ice cream. _

_ I love summer!_

_ Ally._

I laugh at myself. I was so enthusiastic back then. But I frown as I try to recall this day. I can't. I mean, I remember our elementary school, but I don't remember him.

I decide to look at one of Austin's notes. It's dated to March of 2013.

_I miss her. God, I fucking miss her. And she doesn't miss me, because she doesn't know who I am anymore. And that's not even the worst part. The worst part is that every time I saw her after the crash, she was scared of me. And it fucking hurts me so much because I never did anything to her to give her a reason. My mom promised she'd remember me. But she can't promise me that. It's been three years and there's no progress. None that we know of anyway. I just want to see her again. But every time I consider coming back, my mom reminds me that it won't help. And I know this. God I can't fucking stand it anymore. I need her to remember me. She means the world to me and I can't pretend I don't care._

_ It hurts all the time._

I don't realize I'm crying again until I startle myself as a tear hits the page. I put it down instantly and I'm glad I see my mom online. I don't know how long she's been on, but I hope she isn't busy.

I video call her.

After a few moments it connects and she's shuffling papers.

"Hey, Mom," I smile, seeing her little hat at risk of falling off her head in her activity.

"Hey, baby," she answers, settling. "How's everything?"

"Good, I guess. How's Africa?"

"Great! Trish got in another fight today though."

I laugh. "Trish in real life probably did, too," I joke. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure, honey, anything," she says warmly.

I swallow hard. "Did you give Austin Moon my book after the accident?" There's silence and she just kinda stares at the computer screen, just away from where the camera is. "Mom?"

She sighs. "Ally, where is this coming from?"

"Mom, I just want to know. He came and saw me today."

"_He what?_" she exclaims.

"_MOM_," I insist. "It's OK."

"I can't believe he did that. We asked him not to contact you anymore."

"I know, and Dad was hesitant to let him in the store," I explain. "But Mom, I deserve to know that happened."

She sighs and takes her hat off and lets her hair fall. "Honey, four years ago, when you woke up from your coma, you didn't remember Austin. I figured, hey – maybe it's temporary. Because you remembered Dad, and you remembered me, and Trish and a bunch of other people. But as the days went by, you still didn't remember him. And so I looked through your book to see if there was anything wrong between you two. And nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

"I talked to your doctor and she said that there was a possibility you'd never remember him again. And as he kept coming and you kept telling him you didn't know who he was, I realized it was harder on both of you to keep trying to make you remember. So I looked through your book and I decided what to do. There was this one entry in it – short, but significant – and it made me come to the conclusion that this boy meant more to you than possibly anyone could, and that he deserved to keep this book, if that's all he had left of you."

I take a moment to process this, and I'm suddenly very sad because I want nothing more to remember Austin. A thought occurs to me. "Which entry?" I ask.

"It's only from a few months before the accident."

I skim through the pages curiously. It takes around thirty seconds, but finally, "I found it."

"Read it," she urges me.

I clear my throat and take a deep breath. "_Dear Book,_" I read. "_Austin is honestly the nicest boy in the world. And I hope we're always friends, but if something ever happens to me, I hope he knows how much I care about him. I trust him with everything. Even you. I know he'd take care of it. And he's the only one I trust with it. I hope he knows how much he means to me._"

"After I read this, I stopped reading your book. I went to Mimi's and told her and Austin that I think you need your space, and that it's not fair to him to keep seeing you this way and it's not fair to you to keep seeing him when you don't recognize him."

My lip trembles. "He... He told me he never read it. He promised. How do I know if he's telling the truth?"

"Austin would die a thousand deaths for you, Ally. Trust me. He didn't read it. And if you can't trust me, trust your 12-year-old self. She knows he wouldn't read it."

"He asked me to give him another chance. To start over. Get to know each other again. Like we never knew one another before. He said that there's a lot he doesn't know about me anymore, and that he wants the chance to. He also said you told him to keep it until I'm ready to know him again."

"I did."

"So what do I do?"

"Are you ready to let him in?"

"I'm ready to try."

"Then tell him." I'm quiet for a long time, and so is she. Just then a loud noise erupts from behind her. "Shoot," she says. "Trish is fighting again. I have to go. Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I reply.

"Tell me what you decide. I love you, Ally."

"I love you, too."

And she hangs up.

I close my book and tuck his papers back inside. I glance at my phone, then to his number. And before I can stop myself, I text him.

_Meet at the tree house?_

And in, literally, 10 seconds, he replies.

_Yes. See you in ten minutes._


	4. Chapter 4

I scribble my dad a quick note, deciding that it's best to limit the details, because he would no doubt worry and that was the last thing I needed.

_ Went to see a friend. Be back later. Love you._

My dad has this funny idea that I have a hundred friends, when in reality I have like, 2. But I use his limited knowledge to my advantage that way he doesn't suspect anything. I grab my coat and head out the door, the school only a few minutes away in a walking distance. I clutch my book to my chest. I don't know what I'm expecting from Austin. But I know that's waited four years for this, and I don't want to disappoint him. Or disappoint myself.

The sky is at that point where it's blue and purple but also really dark because it's almost 9 o'clock and there's a mild chill in the air. As I walk, a memory comes back, but it's nothing significant, just that I remember the corner store and that I'd always want the jumbo freezies every day, even in the winter. The guy who ran the shop was a good friend of my dad's and always gave me one - white or blue of course, the others pale in comparison - and I'd thank him and my dad would tell me I'm lucky for being cute and it always made my day. Not an important memory, but it makes me smile.

I make it to the school with a minute or two to spare, and I don't see the blond boy around. I walk slowly up to the tree, and I'm sad that I remember its location but not the actual experiences Austin and I had here. I rest my hand on the old wood and wish I could somehow... I don't know, _absorb_ every memory I've lost.

I pat it solemnly and sigh. "Hey," I hear suddenly. I jump and turn quickly, catching his silhouette in the setting sun. "Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you." His hands are in his pockets and he walks closer, slowly.

I say nothing while I try to steady my heartbeat.

"So should I be worried?" he asks playfully. I must have given him a look of confusion because he continues. "I mean like, should I go back to Jacksonville now?"

"Are you asking if I'm about to tell you to leave?" I demand.

He shrugs. "As someone you once knew, I'd tell you that I'm used to that. As someone you just met earlier, I'd say that I'm asking as a safety precaution because you know, stranger danger and all that."

I chuckle at his joke, startling myself mostly, and I earn a genuine grin from him. "I remember this tree. According to my younger self I loved this tree."

"There were many good nights spent here," he agrees.

"I'd like you to tell me about them," I say.

His head snaps up. "What?"

My eyes widen. "If you don't mind," I add quickly.

"No, no, it's not that," he assures me. "I just, kind of didn't think you'd be up for that."

I start climbing the tree and look back at him. "How am I supposed to remember anything otherwise?" I smile and he comes up after me.

I crawl in to the corner, and as he crawls up too, he looks at me for a moment. "We have a problem," he says.

"What?"

"That's my corner."

I grin and move to another corner of my choice and he takes the place of my previous spot. "So I did some thinking," I tell him, hugging my knees. "I'd like to get to know you. After all, everyone tells me about how we were best friends. Even I thought so. But I can't promise I'll remember you." I frown. "Like, ever. I might never regain my memory. But I think that if you're patient, and you trust me, I can learn to trust you. Maybe we can be friends again."

His smile lights up the old wooden box we're in and I find myself smiling back immediately. "Well, I'd like that," he says. "What do you want to know?" He also hugs his knees to his chest.

I think about it. "How did we meet?"

"Well in grade one, you were the Student of the Week in Miss Sherwood's class," he begins excitedly. "And I was new. And as that special Student, part of your responsibilities, aside from telling everyone the weather and giving everyone a dab of hand sanitizer before and after lunch, you had to spend a whole week with whatever kid was new. And since that was me, and you were very good at your job, you showed me around the classroom and told me about the bean sprouts you were growing."

I listen and smile. "Is that it?"

"Well no," he replies. "That's just how we met. We became friends because on Father's Day, only two weeks after I got there, we were making ties for our dads and we both decorated ours with music notes. Because I love music, I always have, and I never really had the mental capacity to understand that it was about doing something my _dad_ would like, not what _I _would like." He adjusts his position as the darkness closes around us slowly. "And Dez told me this, but you told me it was beautiful and that my dad would love it anyway. So for the next... five or six years, we were joined at the hip, plus Dez and Trish."

"Sounds memorable..." I whisper. "I wish I could remember it."

"We also wrote music together. It was decent for little kids' work, but when it came to music, neither of us messed around. Not at all. That's why I new the lyrics to Better Together. We wrote it. Actually, not too long before the accident."

"We did?" I frown.

"Yeah."

"My mom told me she gave you the book because she read that I said something about you being the only one I trust with it," I tell him.

He nods. "You never let _anyone_ touch your book. Usually not even me. But sometimes, if you were sad, you'd show me things you wrote. Or if we were writing music, you'd show me what you had. And you said that if you didn't know about it, _no one _was to touch your book." I stare at the brown leather book protectively. "From what I can see," he adds, "that hasn't changed."

"You ate a bite of my ice cream one time," I say. "And you tried to pretend you didn't."

"Hey – I still hold to my plea of not guilty on that one," he says sternly.

"Austin, you had sprinkles on your face," I tell him pointedly. We both laugh then and he sighs.

"Is that a memory?" he says, his voice hopeful?

I shake my head. "My book, there was an entry about it."

"Ah, even your book lies," he jokes.

"Hey!" I exclaim.

His only response is to laugh more.

"Tell me something," I say quietly. "How bad did I look in the hospital after the accident? I've asked my parents, but I'm sure they make it sound a lot better than it did. I want to know."

He hesitates, staring out of the entryway of the tree house.

"Austin, please."

"You looked terrible. For about... two days, I thought I'd never see you again. I saw you wheel in on a stretcher at the hospital. Your mom called my mom as soon as the paramedics cleared her injuries, and we were quicker than the ambulance to meet you all. My mom felt bad for months for getting there early. She almost put me in counselling, actually, because we were so quick to get there and I had to see my best friend in the entire world bleeding from... everywhere, and I screamed. I don't remember much except that I pretty badly bruised my mom while she was trying to restrain me from running back with the doctors.

"Blood was everywhere. You might only remember your cuts and scars and stuff, Ally, but when I saw you, you looked like a giant open wound. Your entire left side of your body was paralysed for almost a week while you were comatose. Not a day goes by where I don't think about you, on the verge of dying at twelve years old."

I swallow hard as I process this information. I fumble with my book a little and I realize I'm shaking slightly. I try to find a certain page in my book but it serves to be difficult. "There's one thing you wrote," I explain, while I search. "About me, I think... last year?" I find it. "Here." I clear my throat to read it. "_If I could go back to before the accident, I'd go back exactly one day before it, the day Ally told me that I was her best friend in the entire world. I would tell her how much she meant to me one last time and hug her as not-awkwardly two friends could. I would tell her this while she still remembered me, so I could live with the knowledge that she once knew._" I look up from the paper and he stares back at me. "I was wondering why you said this in particular."

"Because I guess it was easier to _say _that I want a do-overthan to completely and unrealistically hope one day life would suddenly put me in that crash."

I sit up on my knees and get closer. "I don't remember you, Austin, but I know for a fact that I would have rathered being there instead of you." He stares wide-eyed at me but stays silent. "We should go," I say.

He sighs but nods. "Okay," I climb down the tree and he follows, and on my last step I hit a protruding piece of bark and slice my hand open a little.

"Shoot," I hiss. It starts to bleed a little and he jumps down quickly.

He takes my hand. "Are you okay?" he asks seriously.

I nod. "It just stings, don't worry," I say. But he feels around his back pockets for something anyway, and pulls out a little package of Kleenex.

"Here," he says. He pulls two pieces out and arrays them atop my skin, pressing gently. "Hold this down so it'll stop the bleeding, we'll get you something when we're back at home."

"I don't want to go home yet," I say. "How about we get some ice cream?"

He grins wholeheartedly at that and offers his arm to link with mine, and we head down to the corner store from before. "Tell me something else," I ask softly.

"Like what?" he wonders.

"What's your favourite memory from before the accident?"

He thinks for a long moment. "I really loved when we were eleven," he starts. "There was a talent show at school, and we entered together as a duet. We both sat together at the piano and played our own parts, and we both sang a song we wrote."

"Did we win?" I ask, smiling.

"Nope," he answers. "I sneezed in the middle of the performance and it scared you and we messed up our place in the song and that was it. I felt so bad at the end but you just kept laughing and laughing and_ laughing _at me because it was really funny. God, I felt _so _bad."

"It wasn't your fault," I tell him.

"That's what you told me then, too," he chuckles.

Later, when we're almost back at my house, he checks on my hand and uses the napkin he got with the aforementioned ice cream we ate to put back on my scratch from the tree.

"What are you going to do now?" he asks, stopping at the gate of my house.

I look up to my bedroom window and think. "I think I'll Skype my mom and tell her what's going on. I talked to her earlier," I explain.

"Where is she?" he asks, confused.

"She's in Africa again."

"Oh, good for her."

I smile. "She loves it." I stare at the sky for a second, not really knowing what to do or say. "Uh... do you want to hang out again tomorrow?" I say awkwardly.

He gives me this _are you serious? _face and I shrug. "Of course," he answers sincerely. "Tell me when and I'll be here."

"I'll text you."

"Okay."

It's quiet again.

I reach up and hug him hesitantly, and I notice how his arms wrap around my waist tentatively, as this is new territory for both of us after all these years and the loss of my memory. When I pull away I give him the most genuine look of gratitude I can give him. "Thank you for being patient with me," I whisper.

"Always."

I smile and let myself in my gate and I don't look back before I reach my house. He waits until I'm inside and he walks away. I'm still smiling when my dad comes down the stairs. "Hey, honey," he greets me. "How was your night?"

"Eventful," I say.

"Who were you with?" He pulls the milk out of the fridge and pours himself a glass.

"Austin."

I think he almost spills it mid-pour but he recovers and puts the jug down. "Austin," he repeats.

I nod. "Yeah. And don't worry, I'm fine. In fact, I'm great." I bounce up the stairs to my bedroom and I wait for my mom to come online as I get dressed. She doesn't, not yet, so I grab a pen and decide to write an entry for the first time since the accident.

_Dear Book,_

_ Austin came to see me today, and after a little over three years of not seeing him, I didn't recognize him at all. But he was really sweet, and I could tell he was trying very hard not to screw up this plan he had to get me to trust him. I don't know what it was, but I wasn't scared like I used to be. I think maybe I've just lived so long without answers, and from what I told myself years ago and from what my mom said, I've trusted him with bigger things than this. _

_ So tonight we went to the tree house and he told me some things about us before the accident, and God, I wish I could remember. But I'm hoping I can one day and that we can be friends again, like __**really **__be friends – just like before._

_ Tomorrow I'll see him again. I'll see him every day I can until he leaves. I'm comfortable around him and I know Austin will answer all my questions._

_ I know he'll tell me the truth._

When I'm done I see that my mom is on and was probably on for a while since she changed her little personal message, too.

I video call her and she immediately accepts the request.

"Hi, baby," she says when we connect.

"Hey, Mom. Boy, do I have things to tell you."


	5. Chapter 5

I can't really sleep that night, because I'm actually excited to see Austin again. Even though I don't remember anything, it's like I'm closer every minute I spend with him to remembering _something_. I don't know how to explain it. My mom said that it could be my subconscious telling me that I know him, and yeah, okay, maybe I do. I definitely feel safe around him, and I just "met" him hours ago.

It's 11 o'clock and I decide to text him.

_Thanks for earlier. If you want, pick me up tomorrow morning?_

I wait only a moment for his response.

_Of course. What do you want to do?_

_ It doesn't matter. _

The next morning I take a quick shower and make myself look presentable and find an easy breakfast before Austin comes. My dad comes downstairs and looks at me quizzically. "What are you doing up? You're never up before ten," he says. He comes up behind me and steals the milk for his coffee.

"I'm hanging out with Austin," I tell him.

"Do you remember anything?" he asks in a very dad-like manner.

I shake my head while I eat a spoonful of cereal. "No, but I feel like if spend time with him enough, something will come back."

"So did he move back?"

"No, he's here for a week."

"How much do you plan to remember in only a few days?" he asks doubtfully.

"Anything."

There's a knock on the door then. "Come in," he calls. Austin walks in hesitantly and closes the door behind him. My dad nearly spits out his coffee. "Austin," he says. "You've grown up so much."

"Thank you, Sir," Austin says.

"Don't call me that, you've always been like a son to me," my dad says sternly. "That doesn't change because you moved." He opens his arms invitingly and Austin steps in eagerly, and I could cry because it looks like a father and a son hugging after one returns from war. Austin looks like he could cry, too.

After they catch up briefly and I'm ready to go, we leave the house and start walking in a random direction. It's not until the air is suddenly cooler I ask where we're going.

"The beach," he explains. My hands are tucked in to my sleeves and pull my hair to the side.

"I'm not dressed for the beach."

"Neither am I, I thought we could just sit for a while." He smiles brightly, though something is bothering him.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

"Yeah," he answers, steering me toward the entry way. "I guess I just didn't think it would be that hard to see him again after all this time. I mean, I was really excited and anxious to see _you_. I never stopped to consider how it would be seeing anyone else. If your mom was there, I probably would have. Cried, I mean."

I frown, because I feel responsible for him losing half of his life when I pushed him away. "I'm sorry," I say quietly.

He stops and looks at me, puzzled. "Don't be," he says. "It's not your fault you couldn't remember then, and it's not your fault you can't now."

I smile and take his arm like yesterday, which he happily gives me, and as we walk on to the beach, a wave of nostalgia washes over me. "So," I tease. "What's the significance to the beach?"

We sit down only fifteen feet from the tide and he laughs. "Nothing really. We came here all the time, but nothing super big happened."

We're both quiet as the water swooshes and crashes and rhythmically repeats. I can hear seagulls and far away chatter and the giggles of little kids in the background. I resist the urge to rest my head on his shoulder. I feel like I could if I wanted, but I'm still getting to know him.

"Your dad looked like he didn't really want you going out," Austin says after a while.

I don't look at him when I answer. "He doesn't want me leaving the house ever. Even after all this time he insists on me never being in a car again and never going out on Fridays because the amount of drunk drivers skyrockets by like, 44%. That's probably not even a real number."

"44 is obviously a real number," Austin jokes. I give him a _don't start with me _look. "Ally," he adds. "He's just being protective."

"I know," I say. "And I know he can't help it. I can't imagine seeing someone I love almost die."

"It sucks," he says softly. "But it wasn't the worst part. Not for me." Now it's his turn to look away, and there's something about the ocean that makes him look a little older.

"Seeing me hemorrhage wasn't the worst part?" I ask in disbelief.

He shakes his head. "No. I mean, it was bad, yeah. I thought you were going to die and I threw up like, a dozen times within the first 24 hours. But it definitely wasn't the worst part. The worst part was watching you get better. You were staying awake longer each day, you moved your hands, you even smiled sometimes. And I was there every day, by your side. I slept over at the hospital some nights and other nights I slept at your house until your parents would wake me up and we'd go see you. I had many sleepless nights because I thought something would go wrong the second I left you.

"Then you started to laugh and talk and eat and you didn't need life support. You still needed a wheelchair because you were temporarily paralysed. That was scary, too. But you started getting better and you didn't remember a lot of people. But we didn't realize until you looked at me and demanded to know who I was. I thought you were joking at first, but then I was rushed out of the hospital room so fast I didn't know what to think." He begins playing with the sand, letting it fall gracefully between his fingers. "So the worst part was definitely watching you get better every day only to realize you didn't know who I was anymore. Then the doctor told us that there was a good chance you'd remember everything eventually, and as you started to, I got really positive that 'any day now' you'd remember _me_. And you didn't. Not ever, not even now. And so the worst part was knowing that I'd never be important to you again. And that we would never write together again or play together or do best friend things with each other. The day you screamed at me and told me that Trish was your best friend was the day I begged my mom to move. I cried every day for a week, and after that I just felt numb."

I'm almost crying. "I'm so sorry, Austin. I really am. I can't believe I put you through that." I decide now was the best time to lean on him, and he wraps his arm around my shoulder.

"It's okay," he says. "To be honest, I didn't think I would ever be this close to you again. I thought I'd be destined to remember while you'd be destined to forget and we'd be like star-crossed best friends."

I smile. "I think I'd feel the same. Actually, I know I would. My book told me so."

It's his turn to smile. "You always loved that book."

"I'm surprised you never read it."

"I wanted to. God, there were days where I would hold it, _grip _it until I thought I'd tear it apart. Because it was like you _did _die and this was all I had left. It didn't matter that you were alive here. It felt like you were dead. But I knew how much that book meant to you. It was like a diary, and it wouldn't have felt right looking inside it, ruining the sanctity of a _personal _diary."

"There are days I missed that book," I tell him. "Like when my parents split or on days Trish would act weird. Days where nothing made sense and days where everything was great. But I mostly wanted it for right after the accident. Because I didn't want to see a therapist. And I wanted to confide in my book instead of someone who got paid to pretend like my problems were their problems. But I didn't like actually talking about the accident. I didn't like telling people that I could remember every single detail of it, down to the moment the car hit ours.

"It was cold, but the crunch against my side felt hot. I'm sure it was because of the blood. My neck flopped against the windshield as it shattered and I heard the gasps and cries of both my parents and myself. It was too late to react, but my body tried to anyway. I snapped in to a little ball and that earned me a couple dozen more cuts as the metal stuck out around me. I remember it being completely silent for a few seconds as I tried to make myself aware of my surroundings, and soon I heard the blaring of our car alarms around me. I was completely encased in the car. I was still. Tears were pouring down my face and everything was a salty, bloody mess. I remember one of the fire fighters telling me to stay calm and to not move. I found it funny, even in my situation, and I wanted to say, 'dude, you realize I _can't _move, right?'. But I couldn't find the strength to tell him.

"When I was being wheeled in to the hospital, I wasn't conscious for most of it. But I remember everyone yelling, 'Allison, Allison, wake up. Stay with me, Allison', and I wanted to yell at them because my name is not Allison. It's Ally. My birth certificate says so. I've always been particular about that. It sounds dumb, really. That I was this close to death but I was worried about how someone was addressing me. I guess when you're dying, all the trivial things start to matter. It was the worst experience of my life. But I didn't want to tell the therapist this because I didn't want him telling me I was suffering from PTSD or something stupid, and prescribing me narcotics or antidepressants or something absolutely _useless_."

He's staring at the ground wide-eyed. "I wish it was me," he whispers.

I look at him, and my eyes start to water. "Don't," I say. "Don't ever say that. I wouldn't wish this on anyone. You think it sucks for you that I don't remember, and it does, I'm not minimizing your pain or anything, but imagine having your parents hurt too, having them split up, having everyone cater to you because you're incompetent, having your best friend leave because you hurt him too much, losing your musical ability, not being able to leave the house without your parents worrying. It sucks, Austin, and I don't want you to wish it was you in the crash."

He sighs and rests his head in his arms and stares back at the ocean. "It isn't fair. None of this is fair."

"You're right, it's not. But you're here and everything is okay. You're telling me things and when you go home we can video chat. The trip down memory lane doesn't have to end here. Maybe one day I'll remember you. Maybe one day we'll be exactly as we were before."

"I hope so," he says. I squeeze his arm assuredly.

We sit like that for a while.

"What do you want to do?" he wonders.

"Can we just sit here for a while?" I ask hopefully.

"Of course," he replies. "I got nothing but time."

"You're leaving in less than a week."

"...Okay," he nods. "_Today_, I've got nothing but time."

I grin and push us back in the sand and we fall with a light thud. We don't move though, and for another hour or two we lay there, completely still.


	6. Chapter 6

A little while later, we leave the sandy part of the beach and take a stroll down the boardwalk. I don't remember ever being here, but I probably never was anyway, because my dad hates the beach and my mom always worked. A few games are set up and I see a big stuffed goose advertising a booth.

"Oh my god," I exclaim.

"What?" Austin asks, his head whipping around to find the source of my joy.

"It's a stuffed goose," I explain. "I love geese."

He grins a knowing smile and pulls out his wallet, handing me a few dollars. "Let's both try to win it for you, and whoever manages to do so gets to decide the next thing we do," he suggests.

"Oh, you're on." I smirk and step in line. I decide that I'm going to use my secret skills to my advantage. The boy in front of me wins and chooses a stuffed dog and scurries along with his parents. I step up and hand the guy a dollar. All I have to do is knock down 2 bottles with three bean bags. The trick is to go for the bottom of them because there is a bigger opportunity. So I look for the most conveniently located bottle and throw my first bean bag.

Miss.

Austin stifles his chuckle in the background. I line up to hit again and shoot.

Score.

I grin and hold out hope and adjust myself. "Don't mess up," Austin whispers.

I look back at him and scowl. "Really?"

He just grins like a toddler and I can't help but smile. I line up to shoot and I miss.

He takes his turn next and misses each bottle. He turns beat red as the last bean bag shoots by the bottle by a whole ten inches. "Hmm," I say mockingly, pursing my lips.

"Maybe they're defective," he mutters.

"Yeah, okay," I say.

This continues until he runs out of money and I'm down to the last buck.

"You have to get this one," Austin urges.

"I know," I nod. I notice the booth attendant guy eating a sandwich with a rather bored look on his face. I lock in on the centre bottle and throw the bean bag, and to my surprise, it knocks 3 bottles over. "Yes, oh my god!" I shriek. "Can I get the goose?"

The guy pulls it down for me and I hug it tightly. Austin comes to my side and puts his arm around my shoulder and laughs. "Well, you won," he says. "What shall we do now?"

I stop walking and am quiet for a moment. "Teach me to play."

He looks at me quizzically. "Play?"

"The piano," I tell him. "Teach me to play again. I lost all my skill and forgot how to play after the accident. Show me all the songs we wrote."

"Really?" he says. He smiles slightly. "Okay." He links our arms. "Sonic Boom?"

I grin. "Sonic Boom."

It's a short walk to the store, but I cherish it anyway. Time I spend with Austin is never wasted. I never thought I'd think that, honestly.

He holds the door for me and it's dark in the store, but he runs to turn the lights on, knowing exactly where to go. It makes me feel a twinge of sadness because he left all of this, his life, behind when I stopped remembering. I sigh and move over to the piano, sitting on half the bench, leaving the other for him. He joins me and smiles. He lifts up the piano cover and his fingers brush against the keys hesitantly.

"Are you okay?" I ask, concerned.

He nods. "It's just... I haven't been here, like this, with you, in so long," he explains. "I'm sorry. It just brings a lot back." He squeezes his eyes shut and for a second I think he's going to cry.

I rest my head on his shoulder and squeeze his hand. "I'm sorry, Austin."

He smiles. "I'm alright. Here – let me show you the first one we wrote together." He thinks for a moment and nods his head to himself when he remembers. He begins to play. "Whooaaaaaa... yeah... stop hiding out in the shadows, scared to show the world you exist. Don't lock yourself in the darkness, the world is so much brighter than this." He grins at me from the side and I smile back while he continues, the song filling the store.

I listen closely, and even though I love his voice, I'm searching my head intently for even the tiniest recollection of writing this with him. My mind turns up blank, but when he finishes the song and sighs happily, I find myself saying something without meaning to.

"You want to be famous, don't you? A pop star?"

He looks over at my quickly, eyes wide. "What? Do you remember something and-"

"No, no," I interrupt him. "It's just the passion in which you're singing. Like the song meant more than anything to you."

He shrugs. "It did. It was the first time we _really_ connected. We were best friends before, but I think this song finalized it, like we would forever be friends. Even though that wasn't the case, the song is still important."

I frown. "Why didn't you go on to get an agent? You could have made it big."

"I didn't want to do it without you, Trish or Dez. We were a team. One day we will be again. I know it." He half smiles, and it doesn't reach his eyes.

I'm quiet for a moment. "You were friends with Dez? He never mentioned it."

"No one was supposed to talk about me to you. It hurt so much knowing that... God, I cried for months. Literally, months. I never got over it..." He stares at the piano for a moment before he continues. "But no, uh, I've known Dez since grade one," he explains. "We met when we were making name tags on the first day and we were sitting next to each other. He had a Zalien on his tag and I'd loved Zaliens for such long time before."

"You left Miami because of me," I say softly. "But your best friend was here. I can't believe that. I can't believe I fucked up your life so bad." I rest my head in my hands shamefully.

He rests his hand on my back and rubs softly. "It's okay," he replies comfortingly.

I stand up. "No it's _not_," I argue. I start pacing. "I knew that you left. I didn't know who you were, but I knew that you left. And I didn't care, because all you did was tell me we were friends and I never could remember. So when you left, I was relieved. But I'd still think about you. About how I wish I'd remember. Sometimes, I'd hear my parents talk about you late in to the evening," I tell him. I sit on the bottom step of the staircase, and he comes to crouch in front of me. "I wouldn't be able to sleep or something and I'd hear them before I go to the kitchen for a drink. Or even like, a month or so after you left. It was like 2am and I was still a little wobbly on my own feet, since I'd been wheelchair-dependent for some time. But I was trying real hard to get better on my own. I'd go up and down the stairs some nights and say it was to get a drink if someone asked. The first few times I did it, no one was awake to notice. That night though, I had managed to get down the stairs making minimal noise – consequently, I was more winded than usual, so I sat down on the steps, sort of like now." I motion to myself for visualization.

"While I'm sitting there to catch my breath, I hear my parents. _It's really upsetting_, my mom said. _I hope she remembers him soon. Mimi said he hasn't left his room. _Then I heard my dad: _it's been over a month, Penny. If he can't get over it now, he won't. _And I felt really guilty. And for the next few days, I tried to remember you on my own. But my book was gone and all the evidence we were friends vanished and I was completely screwed," I say.

Austin frowns. "What happened that night?" he wonders. "Did they find out you were there."

I nod. "Yeah, because eventually they started talking about how my dad was considering selling Sonic Boom, and my mom told him not to. He said it'd be easier financially because of my hospital bills, but my mom told him that I was getting better and that soon we'd be okay again. I staggered in at that point, and my mom almost screamed because I startled her. It was very satisfying because I _was _in fact getting better. My dad jumped up with a smile to help me, just because I was a little breathless. But I insisted on getting some water on my own, and when I did, my mom did this thing where she interlocked her hands together below her chin and smiled like I was a baby taking my first steps. I guess I sort of was. They helped me up the stairs and in to bed, but I was finally getting better."

"You always were persistent," Austin muses. He stands up, offering his hand. I take it, and look back at the piano. "Shall I teach you the Austin Moon Method?" he says very matter-of-factly.

"Method of what?" I chuckle sardonically.

"Of playing piano." He feigns disappointment in my question but gives me this brow-wiggling look with his eyes and grins.

I stand up and shake my head. "Can we just dance? I want to dance."

"Why, certainly," he agrees. He bows down in a gentlemanly manor and I giggle. "May I have this dance?"

"Of course," I say, fanning out my hypothetical dress in response. He smiles and pulls out his iPhone, turning on the song _All of Me_, and sticks it in his shirt breast pocket, speaker end up. He pulls me in to the slow-dance position and I grin at his precision.

As the music plays I find myself falling in to a steady rhythm with him and the song, and I can't help but smile.

He talks quietly over the music. "Did anyone ever have to teach you how to dance after the accident?" he asks me.

I shake my head. "I guess I've always know," I shrug.

He almost looks like he's going to cry then, but keeps moving. "I taught you how to slow dance almost a year before everything went down," he explains. "It was because your mom was having a book release party and she wanted us to dance together there, but you didn't know how. So I spent a week helping you perfect the art of the dance." He leans closer and whispers. "I didn't tell you then but I guess I can now: I didn't know how to do it either, so I looked it up and by teaching you and pretending I was a pro, I taught myself."

I laugh, despite what he just told me. "Sounds like something you'd do," I grin.

We're quiet for the remainder of the song, but he sways me with ease around the store like we're in a ballroom under a spotlight. It feels right and part of me hates that I'm so comfortable around a guy I just sort of met, but the bigger part of me loves it.

"I love you, you know," he says when we stop moving. He's gazing at me with such admiration I smile softly.

"I know you do," I answer. "And I pray to whoever will listen that one day I will love you the way you love me. Even if I don't remember. Even if I love you like you love a new person. I hope it happens. Because I definitely love this. The dancing, the stories, the music. It makes me happy. You make me happy, Austin. I'm sad you're leaving."

"I'll come back. Every weekend and more come summer," he promises.

"Good," I tell him genuinely. "Otherwise, I don't know..."

"You'll miss me," he teases.

"Yes," I say. "I will."


End file.
